A bit of advice about Auntie. She plays for reals. Just because you are only four-years-old doesn’t mean she’ll throw the snowball any gentler. Nope, she’ll throw it at you just as hard. So next time we have enough snow to make a snowball, make sure you have one in your hand first. And don’t let the fact that she’ll probably get upset with you stop you from throwing it. Make sure you get a little snow down the back of her jacket too.

PS. I’m sorry I let you cry for so long while I was fumbling around trying to get my camera to snap your picture. The photographer in me just couldn’t help it. Sorry about that.

2/27 Let me clarify – Auntie did not intentionally try to hurt Little Bird. Some readers have expressed concern. Auntie is a very gentle woman who loves her nieces dearly.

I’ve been thinking about telling you a little more about the blessing I give you each night. Why I chose the words, where they come from, what they mean.

The part about you being a miracle was inspired by a song. We first heard it on our trip to Montana I think. Wasn’t that a fun trip? We listened to the Dr. DoLittle audiobook about what, 25 times? At least!

Anyway, these lyrics make me smile every single time I hear them. And it’s because of this song that I make sure to remind you of your miracle status each night.

You know how I’m not really that fun to bake with? I get all uptight and try to make sure you don’t spill things or stir too crazy or get ahead of the directions? And you know how I keep trying to bake with you and Little Bird? Like I’m trying to prove how patient of a mom I can be and how I can teach you things and all that stuff? I bet you wonder why I keep doing it.

Thanks for being patient with me. And when you poured the box of baking soda into the cookie dough the other day? Thanks for not crying when I yelled. I wasn’t actually mad. Just a bit surprised – I mean, things were going so well up to the addition of the baking soda.

If you don’t mind, I might wait a little before we try baking together again. I think we should wait until I chill out a little bit. Maybe I shouldn’t leave the baking soda out or any other ingredients for that matter. What if I pre-measured everything?

Thanks again. For being so patient with me. You got that from your dad.

When I taught you how to sort, wash and fold your laundry last week, you seemed really excited. Remember how you ran up to dad and explained all of the details and how really, really good you were at sorting your clothes and turning them right-side out and putting them in the washing machine and adding the soap and closing the door and how proud I was of you for doing such a good job and all that?

What happened?

Today when we did all of the exact same things – sorting your clothes from Little Tiger’s and then taking it downstairs and adding the soap and closing the door – you didn’t have as much fun.

When we pulled your clothes from the dryer and took them upstairs and started to fold everything and put the pants in the pants pile and the shirts in the shirts pile and the doll’s belt in it’s own pile, you didn’t seem to really like it anymore.

In fact, you were much slower this time and you smiled a lot less and I had to keep reminding you to fold something else and you said it took too long and you didn’t want to do it anymore.

Man. I really thought I had something going. But it turns out no matter how young you are, a chore is really just a chore. It’s only really fun the first time until you realize how much work goes into it and how you have to do it every week for the rest of your life.

You sure love your skateboard, the same board I used to cruise around Portland on.

You were fun to watch yesterday. I should have had my camera with me. Laying on the board as you rolled around, sitting on the board trying not to crash into your sister, crouching and then standing on the board, perched on the end holding your balance and coasting… backwards.

And then falling. Scraping your wrists. Bleeding and crying and hugging. And then our ritual of taking care of scrapes. Soap and water, cream and your favorite Hello Kitty band-aids.

I hope you get back on the skateboard. Don’t let the scrapes and the tears and the painful bits stop you. I’ve seen too many loved ones, including myself, stop learning and living out of fear.

Fear of pain. Of looking silly. Of failing. Of learning the truth. Fear of having to change.

Don’t be like that. This is how to ride a skateboard or really, do anything: Try it. If you fall, get back on. If it scares you, ask for help. If it hurts, let it heal. But don’t stop. Keep trying. Before you know it, you’ll have learned how to ride your skateboard.

We visit libraries in new towns instead of museums or shops. We stop by our library at least twice a week and pretty much know everyone by name. You know how when dad gives me a break the only place I really want to get away to is the library? Well, I just want to say thanks.

Thanks for loving the library as much as I do. Thanks for racing to the door every time we arrive. And cutting in line to give Ms. Paula secret notes while she is checking books out for other people. Thanks for having your secret spots that you always run to, like the tall plant by the fireplace. And for asking Mr. Jon to help you on the computer. And using those slips of paper and tiny pencils to write down your notes.